Disclaimer: I neither own Roswell, nor do I own the prompt. This was adapted from The Write Prompts.

Author's Note: A little glimpse into the boy and the events that shaped Tess to be who she was. Be warned that some sensitive topics may be touched upon, such as child abuse. Additionally, the age difference between Tess and Bobby may be uncomfortable and sensitive to some people.

The Rebel Alliance

I was twelve years old in the spring of 1997 when Bobby Lewiston crashed his father's car into the truck of the maple in our front yard. Bobby was seventeen and lived the next door over. The houses looked incredibly similar from one block to the next during the day, so I imagine at night, and under the influence, it would be damn near impossible to notice you were turning into the wrong driveway. My father was not so forgiving but he did not have a crush on Bobby either. When the police arrived, my heart sank and I imagined the churning sensation in my stomach was probably similar to how Bobby was feeling.

I could see Bobby standing by his father's car and maybe it was the darkness of the night, or the cheap yellow light, but he looked pale and his eyes looked large and maybe for the first time since I had watched him, he looked impossibly young and scared and it made me do the stupidest thing I have ever done, since before coming to Roswell.

I went to try and help him. I had never told a soul of how I used to secretly watch Bobby, from the corner of my eye or peeping through curtains, but I went to my father and begged him to get rid of the police. I lied to the best of my abilities, telling him that we could get into trouble and maybe they would realise we're not humans. I told him everything other than the truth – that I loved Bobby Lewiston and I didn't want him in more trouble than he had to be but it didn't matter. Maybe he could read minds or maybe I was just that goddamned awful a liar but as soon as I finished pleading, he slapped me hard across my face.

That didn't hurt much. It didn't bother me too much either. It was how he looked at me – with disappointment, with despair and worse than that, with disgust. He made it very clear that I was a shame to my race and that I could easily be the reason that Khivar would win again. He also told me that I would be the reason why everyone would die, not just on Antar, he said, but also on Earth. Gripping my arms hard enough to leave bruises, he looked me eye to eye and told me that my pathetic behaviour would mean that Zan, Vilandra and Rath would die and it would be all my fault.

Needless to say, I was crying by this time and before I could think twice about it, I told him that at least Bobby would be okay. It was the first time I had been scared of my father and the first time he used his powers on me. He left me a trembling mess, tears flowing freely and shaking from a mixture of pain and fright, but he didn't pursue charges against Bobby and that made it all worthwhile.

He thankfully ignored me and went straight to his room without using his powers on me again. It meant that I could sit at my window and pull the curtains across to stare at Bobby as he went to deal with his own father. Before he entered the house, he turned back and tipped me a wink with a half smile that made me wonder if my heart would actually physically burst. I watched him closely the whole night, sitting a strange sort of vigil. I saw his own father beat him and it made me feel ridiculously close to him, like we would be bound together for eternity through the violence of our respective fathers.

The next morning was a gorgeous sunny Saturday. Bobby didn't leave his house until the afternoon and the sunlight glinted off the cuts and bruises that adorned his face and arms. I wasn't sure which were from the accident and which were from his father. He was mowing the lawns and picking up the leaves. It was probably punishment for what had happened. I'd fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning and so far, I had yet to see my father. I'm sure I'd find out what my punishment was, sooner or later, and I was sure my punishment would be a lot worse. I had no idea then how much worse my punishment would be.

I went out onto my own lawn and I could see by the upward quirk of his lips that Bobby had seen me. I waited on the steps of my porch and sure enough, he sauntered over a few minutes later.

'I'm guessing I have you to thank for the police not pressing charges against me?' He had the most gorgeous blue eyes I had ever seen, whether drunk or sober, and whenever I looked into it too directly, it felt like I was being blinded by them. It's why I tried not to look him directly in the eyes too often but I couldn't help myself that day and I felt my cheeks burn hot automatically. When I think back to those days, I realise that seventeen year old Bobby Lewiston must've known how I felt, but it was typical of his kindness that he never let it on.

We chatted for a few minutes and I could see his eyes gazing over my own injuries.

'You're a good kid, you know?' He was sitting next to me when he said that. His graceful thin lips had quirked into the crooked half-smiles he always seemed to reserve only for me. I wasn't an idiot, or at least not an oblivious one. I knew he'd kissed many other girls, probably even slept with them, but it didn't mean he didn't have a special soft spot for me and only me. It didn't stop me from fantasizing about how I was his one true love either or how those lips would feel on mine.

Sunday was much the same. I made food for myself because I still hadn't seen my father. I sat on my porch, watching Bobby do his chores and punishment and every few minutes, he'd give me a crooked half-smile and I would realise that this was all I wanted from life, all that I needed. I was happy to watch the sun glint of his angular cheeks, the sweat making his T-Shirt cling to his thin frame and I was happy to bask in his special half-smiles and the desultory conversation. In those two days, I knew that I loved Bobby Lewiston and that there would be nobody else I could ever love.

It was that very Sunday night that my dreams were shattered. My father came in and my wide eyes must have shown my fear because he sighed and stopped a few feet short of me. I can still remember his precise words to this day. 'Tess, we aren't human. We're Antarians and we're more than this.' I don't know if it's hindsight but I think I may have had a sense of foreboding at this point. 'We're leaving in a week's time.'

That was that. There was no argument I could put forward, no tears or tantrums that I could throw that would change his mind. I cried myself to sleep every single night that week. I spent ever available minute when I wasn't in school on my porch, memorising every tiny detail of Bobby's that I could. If he noticed my blatant behaviour, he said nothing about it. I cherished every little half-smile and every single unimportant word he said to me.

He was tracing the bruises on my arms when I told him on the Friday. 'We're moving.' He didn't react. He didn't protest against it or anything. I let the silence stretch between us, and tried to memorise the burning sensation his fingertips left on my skin.

'You're a good kid, you know?' He said it again, looking me in the eye. His smile seemed sad and bittersweet and it felt very much like goodbye. My eyes began burning as much as his fingertips. It's the one and only time he'd ever kissed me, a sweet, chaste kiss on the forehead and it made some tears overspill onto my cheeks.

I let my father do the packing as I continued to sit on the porch and watch Bobby. He joined me on my porch for most of Saturday and Sunday. Sunday evening, my father packed the car. Bobby was sitting on his porch this time. In the twilight, his skin looked almost translucent and he looked more fragile and beautiful than I had ever seen him. He hugged me a tight goodbye and I wished that he would never let me go. Sometimes I think that I can still recall exactly how it had felt. I stood on my tiptoes and brushed my lips against his. He must have leant down, allowed me to have that tiny kiss. My first kiss and sometimes I wonder if it was his last.

That's how I'll always remember him – sweet and beautiful and impossibly perfect. We drove for two days, staying at motels. We arrived in a new house in a new town with no Bobby Lewiston around. It wasn't until Thursday that I found the library with internet access and it wasn't until three days later that I came across a newspaper clipping about a boy who had died because of unsuspected brain injuries from a car accident, they hypothesised. Bobby Lewiston was dead and I knew why. It was because I'd loved him.

I never called my father by this term again. He was always known to me as Nasedo thereafter. And I still remember the taste of salt and heartbreak in my mouth, face raw from rubbing away tears that continued to pour from my eyes as I demanded to know if he had killed Bobby.

He never denied it. He told me that he wasn't being unkind, it was to help me. I had to learn what death was because war was about death first and foremost. He said that Bobby wasn't my one true love, that Zan was out there. And he told me that if I loved Bobby in any shape or form, I would make sure that his death would not be for nothing.

I hated him as much as I loved Bobby but I vowed that his death would not be wasted. It would not be in vain and I didn't care what I would have to do or who I would hurt to ensure that.

The day came when we finally arrived at Roswell and finally found Zan, who went by the name of Max. And the first time I saw him, the sun glaring down on him, I was devastated. He wasn't Bobby Lewiston. I met Max, talked to him and slowly, I realised that I was falling in love with him. I couldn't quite remember the shade of blue Bobby's eyes had been or the beautiful angles of his cheek bones. I couldn't remember with certainty his crooked quirks of his lips that created half-smiles solely for me but I did remember how I felt, how he made me feel and how much I truly loved him. And I was slowly realising that even if Max had darker hair and darker eyes, if he never seemed that fragile or always that kind, I was still falling in love with him in much the same way that I had loved Bobby.

Except this time, I would make sure that neither Nasedo nor anyone else would hurt him. I would cherish Bobby the only way I could – by making sure Max had the chance to live the life Bobby never could. And that was probably the only mistake I made that was more stupid that trying to help Bobby Lewiston.

Author's Note: Please read and review. I would truly appreciate your honest opinions and constructive criticism.